


The pain of being an emo panguini in an online kids' game

by VioletRust



Category: Club Penguin, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: AU, Angst, Club Penguin - Freeform, Drugs, Emo, Gen, I'm sorry for this, M/M, Weed, at least it isn't emo vore, brendon urie is the best, crackfic, emo bands, i honestly can't believe i'm writing this, i wanted to make this just for the lolz but then kinda got into it, this was made to annoy my group chat, what is my life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-21 09:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17041220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletRust/pseuds/VioletRust
Summary: Members of various emo bands awake to find themselves trapped within a strange and horrifying place known as 'Club Penguin'. Will they escape, find a way to fight it, or with they be forced to remain in this twisted new reality?





	1. Brendon Urie Gets Banned

**Author's Note:**

> Don't do drugs kids.  
> 

            “What the fuck is this,” Brendon asked himself, taking in the world around him. It was cold and snowy like the emo souls of half of his fans.

            “WELCOME TO CLUB PENGUIN,” a voice boomed, loud and imposing, as an enormous penguin rose from the ocean, eyes virtually dead, but with a hint of something intense burning within. It was the most terrifying sight. Well, the most terrifying sight for anyone but Mr Disco.

            “Lol, how high am I?” Breadbin said, checking his pockets to see if there was any of that weed left in there. To his surprise and slight annoyance, he discovered his body was that of an orange penguin and he didn’t have any pockets. _Crap._

            The giant penguin seemed baffled by this, but quickly shook their head and decided to continue with their tutorial or introduction or whatever the fuck it is that they were trying to do.

            “THIS IS YOUR MAP.”

The penguin held it before him, presenting it to Brenny like it was some legendary sword or something. Swords aren’t a Panic! At The Disco thing though. Swords are a thing for the dnd-loving not-okay-trust-me MCR fans. That’s just common sense.

“Do you like My Chemical Romance?” Forehead Man asked the penguin. The look of confusion reclaimed its place on the penguin’s face. Is it still called a face if it’s on a penguin? Who cares, I fail most of my biology exams.

“Is that like a drugs thing or-” the penguin frowned.

“No, like the band. I mean idea.”

“I apologise sir, but if you’re high on this game I may have to kick you from the server.”

“The server?”

“Yes.”

“Like the waiter? Like the one the bridesmaid was talking to? Like the ‘groom’s bride is a whore’ guy? You don’t know the lyrics properly? I _knew_ you were a fake fan with your MCR shit.”

“Look, we don’t allow swearing either. If you do it again I’m going to have to kick you.”

Beebo raised his eyebrows as if asking for a challenge, like ‘come at me bro’.

The penguin supressed a facepalm. Why did they choose this job again?

“You know what, just go ahead. I can’t be ass- I mean bothered with this,” a slight shiver passed through his spine, but the Pan Man didn’t seem to care. He just needed to find a place to sleep this off and play some Fortnite.

Bren turned to leave, waving his arm to give the middle finger, but to his complete annoyance he found a flipper instead of a hand.

“What the fucking-”

And then he vanished from the server and was never seen again.


	2. My Chemical Romance Join This Fun Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray's POV  
> My Chemical Romance discover the horrors of Club Penguin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is a joke. I think the ending got kind of crap but fuhk it.

                It’s been only three days, but it feels like centuries. Each minute, each second I spend in this incomprehensible fever dream plunges me further into a spiral of dark, hollow hopelessness as I desperately attempt to grasp on to something, _anything_ in this world that doesn’t spin my head around like a merry-go-round.

                I extend a trembling, purple flipper before me. Yes, I am still this strange kind of penguin and I am still trapped on this horrendous prison of an island.

                I feebly open my door and stagger through the cold snow to the frail glow of light shining from the windows of Mikey’s igloo, where we’d agreed to meet the night before. I just hope that nothing’s happened to them. Anything could happen here and I wouldn’t be surprised. The others might not even be real for all I know, just some monsters distorted into colourful penguins, faking the personas of my former bandmates as a cruel trick to make me lose my sanity.

                The others are waiting for me on the couch indoors. All of us have heavy bags under our eyes from the lack of sleep, a combination of panic and the discomfort of spending the night on one of these dumb sofas. They were all we could afford from ‘non-member’ area of the catalogue.

                “Why don’t they have beds in this fu – I mean _freaking_ – place?” I ask, shivering at the memory of Frank when he said _fuck_ , unknowing of the consequences that it would bring.

                “You can always say fuhk instead, you know, Ray” says Frank, staring straight ahead, “They haven’t banned that for some reason.”

                “Better stay on that side of the street, motherfuhker,” Gerard says, using the old meme in a futile attempt to bring light to the situation. Nobody laughs.

We woke up three days ago as penguins, stood on an icy cove with no idea how we got there. I was a purple penguin, Mikey was yellow, Gerard was pink and Frank was emo black, and we couldn’t recognise each other until we realised that each other’s screams sounded rather familiar. Then we screamed ourselves into a heap of hysteria before Frank finally snapped with anger and yelled at a nearby penguin to tell him what the fuck was going on, which resulted in him vanishing from existence for twenty-four hours, while a strange voice screeched to not use bad words while orange shadows haunted our eyes. When he returned, he refused to speak of what happened.

                “Anyway, I think we should go and look around the island a bit more. Try and figure out what’s going on,” I say, trying not to let the negativity seep into my voice. Gerard looks up and shrugs, his eyes two pools of hopelessness. We all know we’re doomed here. There’s no way we can muster up any of the strength and hope we normally project when we’re surrounded by this empty world. We don’t even have music to help us through the cold nights, nothing to assure us that we aren’t alone. Just some cheery, mindless, kid-friendly sounding tunes that linger in the air, adding to the insanity of this place, crushing our spirits slowly and painfully as everyone swarms around us, laughing at our confusion with tour guide hats and voices that sound oh-too-much like children. It’s like a circus, and we’re the attractions.

                The others begrudgingly get up and waddle to the door. Yes, _waddle_. I’ll never get used to this. Never, even if I was trapped here for a million years.

                With one last glance at Mikey’s igloo, the air so cold, but glowing with warmth compared to the blizzard that awaits us outdoors, I step outside, as ready as I’ll ever be. Which is completely unready, to be honest.

                “Where do you guys wanna go?” Gerard says, picking up his map with a heavy sigh, “Is there anywhere else we haven’t gone?”

                After we managed to pull ourselves together a bit, we spent the past few days exploring the island, only to find each place more befuddling than the last.

                Mikey peers over Gerard’s shoulder, and points to a small log cabin at the bottom of the ski hill, “The ski lodge. We haven’t gone there yet. And the lighthouse too, I think.”

                “Well, they’re close together, so we should be able to cover them both at once,” I say, already starting to waddle in their general direction. I hope there’s something there. Anything at all to explain this. I need some sort of answer. The only logical idea we’ve come up with so far is that this was some kind of crazy plan concocted by an obsessive emo to make us reform MCR.

                We try and make our way to the ski lodge as quickly as we can, dragging our clunky orange feet through the snow. Is this how normal penguins feel? It can’t be. I’m never making fun of Happy Feet again.

 

 

                The ski lodge is the first remotely innocent thing I’ve seen during my time here. It’s cosy and sweet, the snow topping the wooden roof and a warm glow shining through the windows invitingly, like it would welcome me with open arms. Or flippers. It’s like a Christmas card.

                The others look like they’re coming close to smiling, the warmth of this place instilling just a tiny bit of hope in us, and Gerard leads us past a dull-looking building to reach the door. There are some other penguins stood gaping at us inside, but I don’t really care. We look relatively dead inside compared to the unnatural perkiness of everyone and everything around us, so we kind of stick out. Then I realise something. I _recognise_ those penguins.

                I stop walking, and Mikey notices and turns back to me, confused.

                “Is that . . .” I stutter, “Is that Fall Out Boy?”

                And I think it is. In penguin form, obviously, and looking like they’ve been through hell and back, but distinctly Fall Out Boy. A light blue penguin with a beaten-up fedora. A purple penguin with his eyes edged with eyeliner. A red penguin with a curly wig. A pink penguin gripping a pair of drumsticks like his life depended on it.

                What the hell are they doing here?


End file.
